“It’s probably just a chill,” she murmured. Then she remembered how Ned had said those same words to her on her last visit, here, in this very room. The next day her brother was dead. “I just need to rest.” She closed her eyes.
But it was hard to sleep, what with the pounding headache, aching limbs - her throbbing shoulder was a particular trial - and the clamour of the Common Ward going on all about her.
At intervals, waves of heat drenched her with sweat, and she discarded the blanket and coat in an attempt to get cool. A little later, chills began running through her. Sure her hands and feet must be turning blue, she eased back into her coat, and huddled into the blanket’s barely adequate warmth. And so it went on, what seemed like hour after hour of fever alternating with shivering that left her drained, aching and sore.
Thirst overtook her. Kate dug in her pocket and pulled out a threepenny bit, but it took all the energy just to raise her arm, and then the coin slipped from her fingers and rolled away across the floor.
“A drink, Hannah, for pity’s sake!” she croaked.
“Here,” came a woman’s soft voice that was vaguely familiar. A hand slipped under her head and lifted it, then something cool was trickling between her lips, spilling down her chin, and pooling in the hollow of her neck.
“Not too much,” warned another voice. The flow lessened but didn’t stop. Like a dying man in the desert, Kate drank. “That’s enough.”
The source of the water dried up and Kate let out a wordless groan of protest. Then she felt her head being lowered, and something soft mopped her brow.
“More later,” promised the soft voice. She tried to open her eyes, to see who it was. At first they wouldn’t obey her, and when they did the light was too bright to make out much except that the eyes looking down at her were green and full of compassion. She tried to say “Thank you,” but all that emerged was a croak. Against her will and to her frustration, her eyelids closed once more.
“Sleep now.” A hand smoothed her hair.
So she did.
***
Chapter 4
Rebeccah’s fingers were sore and her eyes burned from squinting at her embroidery. She set it aside and crossed to the sash window, then stared down at the activity in the sunlit square for a while before turning to find a pair of eyes regarding her.
“Oh!” Her hand flew to her mouth. It was the first time she had seen those striking blue eyes by daylight; the highwaywoman was well named. “You’re awake.”
“Am I?”
Rebeccah poured a cup of water, and carried it over to the bed. “You must be thirsty. Drink this.”
Blue-Eyed Nick tried to sit up, groaned, and flopped back against the pillow. “I’m as weak as a babe.” Her mouth curled in self-disgust.
“You have been very ill. Here.”
She took the cup from Rebeccah with her right hand - her left arm was in a sling - drained it in a single gulp, and handed it back. “Thank you.”
Blue eyes scanned the bedchamber, lingering on the reclining easy chair that Mary had helped Rebeccah bring through from the dressing room. “Where am I? The last thing I remember is Putney Heath.”
“Our house in St James’s Square.”
Dark eyebrows shot up. “And how long have I been here?”
“Three days.” Rebeccah tugged the bell pull that would summon Mary from below stairs, though it was Monday and the bustle of washday was in full progress.
“That long!” The other woman studied Rebeccah’s face and frowned. “Are you well, Mistress Rebeccah? The shadows beneath your pretty eyes weren’t there before.” She glanced at the easy chair. “My fault, I fear, for I have taken your bed. … Though this is not yours, I’d venture, or it would not fit me!” She plucked at the nightdress that Mary had produced from somewhere.
Rebeccah tried not to blush. “Your condition caused us considerable disquiet.”
“‘Us’?”
“My maid has been supervising your care. Mary’s mother was a Cunning Woman. She looks after all our ailments.” She bit her lip, remembering her panic as she watched the highwaywoman fighting for her life. “We had some difficulty removing the bullet, then fever almost took you. Were it not for Mary …” She fell silent.
“So this rank-smelling item,” the highwaywoman indicated the poultice peeping out of the left shoulder of her nightdress, “is Mary’s handiwork?”
Rebeccah welcomed the attempt at humour. “Her own recipe.” She had watched Mary preparing it in her pestle and mortar. There had been lard in it, and honey, opium for the pain, and myrrh - for which the apothecary had charged Rebeccah an outrageous sum - and lord knows what else besides.
A knock at the door made her jump, and sent her scurrying to answer it. She opened it a crack, saw Mary standing there, and opened it wider.
“Come in.” She pulled the maid through and shut the door.
“You rang, Madam?”
“Your patient is awake.” Rebeccah turned and led the way to the bed.
“I collect that I owe both of you my life,” the highwaywoman told Mary, as the maid checked the whites of her eyes and condition of her tongue, examined her wound, gave a satisfied grunt, and replaced the poultice. “My deepest gratitude.” The skin around her eyes crinkled.
“Consider it just recompense for your rescue of us,” said Rebeccah. “Which brings me to something that has been nagging me … how was it that you were to hand when we needed you?”
Blue-Eyed Nick’s gaze turned inwards for a moment, and she shivered.
Mary frowned and held the back of her hand to her patient’s forehead. “Are you well? Your temperature feels normal…”
“It must have been Chance or the Almighty Himself that guided me to you that day,” said the highwaywoman. “For I had no idea it was your coach that had been targeted.”
Rebeccah leaned forward. “Yet you knew there was to be an ambush?”
She nodded. “I was in a tavern I don’t usually frequent, when I heard a whisper.” She gave a rueful smile. “I had promised a friend I would lie low, but robbery is one thing, rape and murder quite another. I could not stand by and let it happen.”
“Thank God!”
“And thank Blue-Eyed Nick,” murmured Mary. She cocked her head to one side. “We can’t go on calling you that. Do you have a name?”
“Mary!” protested Rebeccah.
The plump woman sniffed. “If she wants me to mind my own business, all she need do is say so, Madam. But ‘Blue-Eyed Nick’ is a mouthful, there’s no getting around it.”
The corner of the highwaywoman’s mouth twitched. “Call me Kate.”
“Kate it is then,” said Mary, “though it’s probably no more your real name than the other was.” Rebeccah rolled her eyes. “And while all this chattering is fine and dandy,” continued the maid, “what you really need is peace and quiet and building up.” Blue eyes tracked from Mary’s face to Rebeccah’s and back again. “We must put some colour back into your cheeks. Think you can manage some broth?”
Kate considered the question then nodded.
“You too, Madam.” Mary turned a stern gaze on Rebeccah. “You’ve been eating barely enough to keep a sparrow alive.”
She was feeling a bit peckish, she realised. “That would be welcome, Mary. Thank you.”
The maid curtseyed, then hurried off.
“She’s quite a character.” The flash of Kate’s strong white teeth made Rebeccah’s heart race.
Realisation that the undercurrent of attraction between them was as strong as ever made her feel off balance. “Were you mocking me?” she blurted.
“I beg your pardon?”
“When you kissed me. … For you’re a woman, are you not?”
Kate chuckled. “Whoever stripped me of my clothes …” She sobered as she saw Rebeccah’s expression. “But I see you are in earnest…. To answer you, my dear. Indeed I was not mocking you.”
For some reason, that ‘my dear’ soothed Re
beccah’s agitation. “Then why did you kiss me?”
“For the simplest of reasons,” said Kate gently. “Because the moment I saw you I wanted to.” She paused. “Does that shock you?”
It should have, supposed Rebeccah. But instead all she felt was a warm inner glow. “I … I have read of such things,” she admitted. “But …” She trailed off.
“God gave me an appreciation of the female form,” said Kate, her tone unrepentant, “and I thank him for it.” Her gaze became quizzical. “Forgive me, but I was under the impression that you did not find my attentions wholly repugnant. Was I mistaken?”
Rebeccah cheeks flamed. “I thought you were a man!”
“So you did.” Blue eyes twinkled. “And now that you know otherwise?”
Fortunately for her composure - if she’d known how indelicate this particular Pandora’s Box would turn out to be, she’d never have opened it - a knock at the door and Mary’s reappearance with a laden tray prevented their conversation from continuing.
“Did Mama see you?” Rebeccah accepted a spoon and a bowl of broth that smelled of beef and vegetables.
“No, Madam. I was the soul of discretion.” Mary eased Kate into a sitting position, propped the pillows behind her, and settled the tray on her lap. She handed Kate the spoon and nodded approval as she took her first mouthful. “Mrs Dutton is supervising the laundering of the silks and lace as she always does.”
“That’s good.” Rebeccah tasted the broth, which was delicious. “And so is this.”
“Mmm,” agreed Kate round her spoon.
Mary’s smile was complacent. “Good food and plenty of rest and you’ll be back on your feet in no time,” she told Kate. “Just as well since Mistress Rebeccah’s busybody of a sister - begging your pardon, Madam, but she is a busybody - is due home soon and you must be gone by then…. Now, if that’s all, I’d best get back below stairs, or the others will say I’m shirking my washday duties.” She bobbed a curtsey and left the two women alone once more.
They finished their broth, and set aside the bowls, then a slightly awkward silence fell.
“Is Clover well?” asked Kate eventually.
“Your horse?” Rebeccah thanked God for the neutral topic. “Yes. She is stabled with our mounts in the Mews around the corner.”
“Thank you. She can sometimes be a handful but I would hate any harm to come to her.” Kate tried to hide a yawn and Rebeccah remembered her recent ordeal and cursed herself for an insensitive fool.
“You are tired and should rest.”
Kate scowled. “I have done nothing but rest for the last three days it seems.”
“I would not call that rest. You were tossing and turning and calling out …”
“What did I say?”
“It was confused. Perhaps you were dreaming of heaven, for you mentioned an angel.”
Kate smiled. “A reference to you, I think.”
Rebeccah blushed and hurried on, “Several time you mentioned Newgate and a man name Wild … no Wildey.” A shadow passed over Kate’s face. “A friend of yours?”
“No.” The other woman’s eyelids fluttered closed then opened again. “I beg your pardon.” She blinked, and licked her lips, but it was obvious she was fighting to stay awake.
“You must sleep if you are to regain your health and strength,” chided Rebeccah.
Kate sighed. “If you insist.”
The sun had shifted round and was threatening to shine straight in the highwaywoman’s face. Rebeccah crossed to a window and drew the curtain, then removed the pillows propping Kate up and made her comfortable.
“Will you still be here when I wake?” There was something wistful in the eyes looking up at her.
She smiled and resisted an urge to brush back a stray lock of raven hair. “If I am not, Mary will come and fetch me.”
“Then I shall sleep.” Seconds later the highwaywoman was as good as her word.
Caroline sipped her chocolate and regarded Rebeccah with a frown. “I see why your mother is concerned for your health. You look quite pale.”
“I’m well enough,” protested Rebeccah, glancing towards the other side of the parlour where her mother was reading a book. To her daughter’s indignation, Mrs Dutton had taken it upon herself to invite Caroline Stanhope round to the house in St. James’s Square. Her aims had been laudable - to lift Rebeccah’s spirits and restore her appetite - but unnecessary given that the woman upstairs was out of danger, though of course her mother wasn’t to know that. “I have not been sleeping well, that’s all.”
Her friend put down the dish of chocolate. “The hold-up on Putney Heath still weighs on your mind?”
Rebeccah nodded. “I can’t help wondering what might have happened had Blue-Eyed Nick not come to our aid.”
“Your mother told me the bare bones of what occurred.” Caroline leaned forward. “A horrific experience, to be sure, Beccah. But once again ‘your’ highwayman,” her smile was arch, “was to hand.”
“And I thank heaven for it! Never was I so glad to see anyone in my life.”
“He must have looked dashing indeed, galloping to your aid, pistols firing. I wish I had been there to see it.”
“Be glad you were not.”
The parlour door swung open, and the senior footman came in, bearing a silver salver on which sat a solitary visiting card. The warning glance Will shot Rebeccah’s way as he limped towards her mother made her heart beat faster.
Mrs Dutton read the legend on the rectangle of white card, looked thoughtful, then muttered a reply. When Will nodded, bowed, and left the room, she returned to perusing her book.
Unable to contain her curiosity, Rebeccah asked, “Who has called on us, Mama?”
Her mother looked up. “Oh, it is only that thieftaker Anne has employed.”
Samuel Josselin? Here? And his injured quarry upstairs and vulnerable? Rebeccah clasped her hands together. Surely everyone in the room could hear the blood thundering through her veins.
“He wanted to make his report,” continued Mrs Dutton, unaware of her daughter’s turmoil. “I told him to come back in two days.”
Relief washed over Rebeccah, and she managed a nod.
Caroline looked puzzled and said in a low voice, “Does your sister not know of your sentiments towards Blue-Eyed Nick?”
She shook her head. “Alas, Caro, Anne cannot see beyond his profession … or the insult he did my person.”
Her friend’s eyebrows shot up. “‘Insult’?”
“The kiss.”
“Ah.” Caroline looked thoughtful. “But surely his rescue of you and your servants now shows him in a much more favourable light?”
Rebeccah sighed. “Perhaps, when she learns of it, Anne will indeed look more kindly upon … him and dispense with Josselin’s services. But -” She shrugged. Anne is hasty in forming her opinions and slow to change them.
“Let us hope so, for your sake, Beccah.” Caroline sat back. “Now.” She gave Rebeccah a playful smile. “Tell me the details you left out to spare your mother’s blushes.”
Rebeccah felt an overwhelming urge to tell her friend everything. But she would be shocked indeed to know that at this very minute Blue-Eyed Nick is sleeping soundly in my bed, and what’s more that he is a she. So she clamped down on the impulse and asked instead, “What can you mean?”
Caroline rapped Rebeccah’s knuckles with her fan. “Did he ask you for another kiss?”
She hoped her cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. “He had far more pressing matters on his mind, Caro.”
“What, no sweet talk at all?”
Her friend’s obvious disappointment made Rebeccah laugh out loud. At the sound, her mother marked her place with her finger and gave her daughter a pleased glance.
“I knew company would cheer you, Rebeccah,” she called. “That the incident shook you badly and jangled your nerves, I can allow, but remaining cooped up in your room was not the answer.”
Rebeccah said only,
“No, Mama.”
Mrs Dutton returned to her book and Caroline reclaimed her friend’s attention. “Is it true that your highwayman killed all three of the rogues who attacked you yet took no harm himself?”
“Indeed.” Rebeccah winced inwardly at having to repeat the lie, but what else could she do? The fewer who knew Kate was here and injured, the better. “Fortune must have smiled on him … and on us that night.”
“No wonder they named him Nick.” Caroline’s eyes sparkled. “He has the luck of the Devil.”
The afternoon passed pleasantly enough, but even while Rebeccah was talking to Caroline, playing cards, eating sweetmeats (her mother smiling at this sign of Rebeccah’s returning appetite), and drinking a glass of wine she found herself fretting about Kate and wondering how she was faring. When her old friend had finally departed with a cheery smile and a wave, it wasn’t long before Rebeccah made her excuses and darted upstairs.
The injured highwaywoman was still asleep. But it seemed a restless kind of sleep - her eyes were moving rapidly from side to side beneath closed eyelids, her brow was creased, and she was muttering under her breath. A concerned Rebeccah held the back of her hand to Kate’s forehead, and was relieved to find it cool to the touch.
Not fever but bad dreams?
Pulling a chair next to the bed, she took Kate’s larger hand in hers, pleased to find that, almost at once, the frown smoothed and the muttering ceased. She contemplated the other woman’s handsome profile, trying to decide which of her features she found most appealing, deciding in the end that it was those striking eyes, currently hidden from view, that caused her heart to flutter the most.
Kate looked both younger and more innocent in sleep. How old was she? Older than me, I’d wager. Not more than thirty though - the life of a highwayman is precarious and short. That thought saddened her.
A hand on her shoulder brought her back to her surroundings with a start.
“You have the touch, Madam,” whispered her maid, indicating the clasped hands and the contentedly sleeping woman.
Rebeccah sighed. “I wish I could do more, Mary. Every moment she remains here she is in danger. Did you know that Josselin came to see my sister this afternoon?”
Rebeccah and the Highwayman Page 9